


"I DO Believe In Miracles!"

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: "Do You Believe In Miracles?" alterations, F/M, Gen, Spoilers thru Season 9, Supernatural S9 Ep23 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5236295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was always planning to take on Metatron alone. And he knows there is a very good chance that he won't walk away alive. So he does what he's always done--he finds a way to protect Sammy (with the help of two decent angels and a jump through a door into an alternate reality).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sorry, little brother, but this isn’t your fight.”

Sam Winchester didn’t hear these words, as he had just been knocked out cold; but he awakes blearily moments later to see a splintering sort of brightness recede from around his head. As he rises from what he thought was the gravel road, he finds himself standing upon a tiled floor instead, peering into a modest kitchen and living area with an entertainment system as well as floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There is a comfy-looking couch that Sam faces while performing his usual tests. No Devil’s Traps nor the scent of sulphur, no salted doorframes nor protective sigils. He now notices a young woman in the kitchen, stirring something in a crock pot. Her profile appears normal, and so does her skin. Neither ghost nor shifter she; who turns around and smiles widely, a breath of relief escaping her.

“Oh, good. You made it here. This may be a bit of a shock, Sam, but you’re safe now—and just in time for dinner!” He blinks in stunned silence as she ladles beef stew onto two plates, talking all the while. “My name is Marie, and I’m sure you have a million questions that you’d like answered. Why don’t you sit down? And would you care for beer or water with your stew?”

“Water, please.” There is no need for him to be impolite to this hostess, Sam decides, though it would be best for him to remain in command of all of his faculties. He remains standing as she gathers silverware and napkins to bring to the table.

“I understand your concerns,” Marie says, “but I’m as human as they come—and I promise I’ll answer all of your questions after we eat.” She sits down pointedly, and at last Sam does too—his frame dwarfing the tiny wooden chair.

“Where am I?” he blurts out after shifting stew around his plate for a minute. The man cannot refrain from asking questions. Inquiring minds want to know. She smiles.

“My apartment in Raleigh, North Carolina.” He stares at her to check for truth.

“How did I get here?”

“Your brother said that this wasn’t your fight, so you were sent away in order to be kept safe. A door was opened from your world into mine, and it will open again when you are able to return. No, the door itself wasn’t my doing; I’m not a witch either. I researched the work involved, and the angels Castiel and Gadreel tapped into the marshlight power along my state’s coastline before returning to your world and travelling on to Heaven’s door. They sent you here at Dean’s request.” After this last comment, Sam’s eyes sting. Even when he is being devoured and corrupted by the First Blade, Sam’s big brother is still looking out for him…at the expense of his OWN life. It’s infuriating.

“So. I’m imprisoned here, then?”

“Oh no, you can go anywhere in this world. I won’t stop you—but this is the only place from which you will be able to return to your own world. Once the door reopens for you. But I can’t open it. Only an angel—or demon—can.” Sam has just taken his first bite of stew, but this information causes him to nearly choke and he jerks backward, dropping his fork in frustration before gulping some water.

“So I AM trapped here! And how do you know about angels and demons and Cas and Gadreel in the first place?! Did Cas or Dean tell you? Well, get this—if they did, you may also know that Dean, my brother, is on his way RIGHT NOW to kill Metatron, the biggest dick of an angel eVER; and he’s doing this completely alone!!!!! I have to help him!!!” Sam leaps up and snags his fork before stomping around in frustration.

“This isn’t up for debate, Sam. Well, maybe it is—and I love a good debate as much as the next girl—but there’s nothing you can physically DO. And to answer your questions—Castiel explained a few things to me, yes, but I already knew about you Winchesters.” Her tone becomes businesslike and firm. “Now, why don’t you quit clomping around like an irate moose and come finish your food instead? I highly doubt Dean would want you to starve yourself on his behalf.”

‘She’s right. He wouldn’t.’ Sam thinks, mulish. “How would you know that?” He demands sulkily, wiping his utensils clean on his napkin before sitting down once more.

“I told you; it’s because I KNOW you, Sam Winchester. And I know your brother. Do you remember, several years ago, the angel Zachariah—”

“Probably the SECOND biggest dick ever,” growls Sam through a mouth full of stew. “He created an alternate universe where Dean had no idea who I was. Yeah, I remember that jerk.”

“Okay, do you remember the OTHER alternate world you and Dean were sent to by Balthazar, Castiel’s buddy? Because Raphael was chasing him—and you? And in that reality all of your supernatural cases were written as TV show scripts and performed by actors?” Sam stares at Marie with grease dripping from his chin before collecting himself and wiping his face with a napkin.

“I vaguely remember, yeah. I was something called a Jared Padalecki. What—are you telling me that I’m in THAT place again?! Because I swear to God I’m no actor. My brother is really in the fight of his life.” Marie nods solemnly.

“I know; I believe you. I know you’re real—you aren’t faking any of the horrors that are happening to you. And I’m so sorry, Sam, that the go-to guys to deal with such atrocities are always you and Dean.” He can tell that she means the sentiments behind these words; there is heartbreak etched upon her face and sorrow entrenched in her dark eyes.

“Thank you for that.” Sam clears his throat. “Is—is this why Dean and Cas chose you as the person to keep me safe? Because you recognize our reality?” Marie nods.

“Yes, that as well as the fact that I empathize with you, Sam, specifically. I feel how hard you have things—wanting to do good and preserve innocent lives; wanting to be ‘normal’ yet realizing, painfully, that you are not; feeling as though you are nothing but a failure and a burden upon the people that you love. But it’s not true, Sam; it isn’t true… Oh, none of those things really, truly define you.” The woman’s eyes shine with tears as she says this, and Sam has a lump in his throat so large that he can barely breathe, let alone speak. He simply reaches out and presses her hand. How can she know him so well? She speaks of his pain as if she has shared it, lived it…and watching his life unfold every week on her TV set, she practically has. At least he will not have to explain himself, because Marie already gets it. Sam lets go of her hand and clears his throat.

“So—that means…you know—?” The question is so encompassing and painful that he cannot complete it, but Marie realizes what he is trying to ask.

“About Maddie, and Sarah, Amy, and Amelia, Ruby…and Jess, the love of your life? Yes, I do.” She bites her lip. “And I am so sorry, Sam. I know that statement is inadequate—it means nothing—less than nothing—from me, a virtual stranger…” She rises from the table and turns herself away, but Sam also shoves back his chair and stands, grabbing her in a quick impulsive tight hug. His voice is muffled against her hair.

“No, don’t apologize. Speaking truths like that—means a lot. And not many people do that, so I appreciate it more than you know. Thank you, Marie.” There is a quiet instant when he holds her closer and she tilts her face up to him…but then they both become bashful, turning away from one another to carry their plates to the sink. 

Sam leans against the counter and finishes his glass of water. As she rinses off their dinner plates and scrapes the last of the stew—there’s little more than a mouthful left—into a Tupperware container, Marie smiles over her shoulder at the gentle giant behind her.

“Why don’t you check out my movies and CDs while I finish this?” Marie asks. “I also have plenty of books, so help yourself. I know how much you like to read.” Sam smiles in pure pleasure and walks over to the bookshelves above (and alongside) the entertainment system.

There is enough classic rock to impress Dean, as well as plenty of classical music and showtunes to completely freak him out. Sam tilts his head sideways to check out the movie titles. Nothing jumps out at him until he spies It’s A Wonderful Life a quarter of the way down the pile. He carefully pulls it out, and the picture on the case takes him back to a cold December night at Stanford, so long ago—almost ten years now—when he had sat in the communal on-campus common room on the couch with Jess, Michael, Chelsea, and a few other friends. Celebrating Christmastime with camaraderie, classic movies, and eggnog. The third thing started out straight but soon acquired rum, so Jess made hot chocolate for the two of them, and they shared a bowl of popcorn whilst snuggling under a soft blanket, their friends already fast asleep…and Sam found himself wishing desperately for a life like the one George Bailey had led—marrying Jess and having kids; that man had been so LUCKY and yet he didn’t know it until Clarence. Good ol’ Clarence.  
Sam’s thoughts now flash forward; Meg had always called Castiel “Clarence”, and Cas even used that name when he was human. Sam gets to thinking about the significance of the name, and sees the angel in a new light. He recognizes the myriad ways Cas has tried to help (this way, for instance), and he realizes how alike he and the angel are to one another. Lost in thoughts and memories, Sam has forgotten where he is until Marie nudges his midriff with her shoulder.

“So, Sam, what didja find? Have you picked something to read or watch yet? Ooh, that’s a great movie,” she says before focusing on her companion’s face, his clearing throat, tear streaked cheeks, and blinking eyes. “Ah. That one holds a lot of memories, doesn’t it?” She gently takes the case out of his hand and gives him a new one. “What about this?” Marie tries a few before selecting Stardust, which is a fantastical romance and so not likely to be something Dean (and therefore Sam) has ever seen.

***  
After a movie and popcorn and Two Treatises of Government by John Locke—(which Sam spotted next to the Declaration of Independence because:

“Let’s face it; Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration as a love letter to Locke and Rousseau. And it’s not even a GOOD love letter! I’ll read some true declarations of love to you right here and now.”)—Marie bounds back over to the bookshelves, responding to Sam’s disbelieving snort of laughter, and grabs The Complete Works OF William Shakespeare to shove in her guest’s face. “There you go—take a look at this. Beatrice and Benedick, Viola and Orsino, Antony and Cleopatra; Sonnets 66 and 154…” He grins and takes the book from her.

“What about Romeo and Juliet? Their love—”

“Is cliché and overdone and has never been advertised truly. They were two horny teenagers who got hammered at a poorly-supervised house party and had the Veronian equivalent of a Vegas wedding. Then everybody died. That’s it.” Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, my God. You just reduced the most well-known love story into…”

“…the truth in twenty-five words. You may applaud me.” Sam merely shakes his head in wonder. Marie goes on: “I adore the Bard, but those two characters infuriate me to no end. I’ve read enough of his other plays to know what true love looks like by the wit it applies, rather than the amount of rhyming couplets used.” Sam raises a skeptical eyebrow, and off the two of them go to locate lines and passages that speak of love well. (Marie has several copies of her favorite plays.) By 2am Sam has stretched out across the couch, and Marie nestles close beside him, her head resting in the crook of his arm and her arm lying across his chest. When he stretches and yawns, she instantly removes her hand. “Though I’ve gotta admit,” she whispers, continuing a conversation begun before they nodded off, “Master Shakespeare had great iambic rhyme going on in Romeo & Juliet. Even Paris and Juliet’s father—” Sam sighs and tilts his face down to stare at her.

“Y’know, all of Dean’s comments about my smarts being a pain in his ass are starting to make sense now!” Marie clams up and looks so shocked and wounded that Sam leans in and kisses her. ‘It was the heat of the moment…’ He has no idea why he does it, but then she kisses him back, stroking the long hair away from his forehead. Sam slowly sits up, giving her the time and choice to twist off of her side. She wraps her arms around his neck and nips his lip and jaw in such a way that a jolt of pleasure shoots all the way down to his toes. Her strong slender fingers stretch to massage his back as she kisses his face frenetically. He grasps her waist and kisses back slowly. Marie gets the message and grows more tender and intimate, gazing into his eyes for a long time and gently trailing her lips and hands across his face, neck, and shoulders. Sam Winchester craves the warmth and comfort of touch, and this woman understands that. She pulls him to her, leisurely undoing his shirt buttons to gently stroke and caress his chest. He does the same to her back.

They hold each other close for such a long while that Marie has almost fallen back to sleep. Then she feels Sam’s shoulders start to shake and heave with silent, suppressed sobs. He has let his guard down completely at last, and Marie’s heart simultaneously sinks and swells to see and hear it. She murmurs comforting endearments into his ear. This passionately earnest care eventually causes Sam to grow calmer, and at last they both succumb to a peaceful and dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

***  
On the following morning, Sam wakes feeling more relaxed and refreshed than he has since…before Bobby’s death, probably. He turns and gazes at Marie’s serene face in the light of the rising sun as a shaft of that light illuminates her thick dark hair. Her body is curled up right next to his and fits naturally there. Sam is so enthralled by her that he does not realize that he is staring until her eyes flutter open and she smiles at him warmly.

“Good morning. You may wanna take a picture—it’ll last longer, Sam.” He blushes furiously in reply, and to let him know that she’s only teasing, Marie adds: “You know, there’s nothing nicer than waking up to find a man looking at you with love in his eyes. It’s extremely flattering. So thank you.” Sam gulps and sputters,

“You—you’re very pretty. I was just—um” The Winchester gestures helplessly, which is even more endearing. She chuckles.

“I understand, Sam, and I appreciate the compliment. Really!” she adds as he continues to look flustered.

“Okay, well, if you’re sure that wasn’t weird to wake up to—” Marie shushes Sam with a kiss before pulling him off of the couch and into the kitchen for breakfast.

“I’m going to make you my famous French toast,” she announces. “And by ‘famous’, I mean my family likes to request it whenever I visit them. Could be because my dad just doesn’t want to cook…” Marie shakes her head whilst cracking and whisking eggs, “…but I’d like to hope they really do think it’s good. And you’re gonna eat like five pieces, am I right?”

“Uhhh…” Sam looks as though he’d like to start begging for help from somewhere. “I actually try—”

“To eat healthy most of the time, of course! Sorry. You at least have to eat ONE piece; then I’ll fry you an egg or something.”

“I’ll eat TWO pieces,” Sam says. What the hell; he’s basically in limbo here anyway. Might as well make the most of it while he can. With that choice in mind, he swoops in to hug Marie around the waist and eagerly offer to help. Dean never lets him cook at home; the bunker’s kitchen should come with a Warning! Sign: ‘THIS IS DEAN WINCHESTER’S KITCHEN. IF YOU VALUE YOUR SANITY, LIFE, AND LIVELYHOOD, DO NOT PROCEED BEYOND THIS POINT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. NOW FUCK OFF.’ 

But Sam had a lot of fun messing around in the kitchen with Jess at Stanford, and this Raleigh apartment—as well as the woman inside it—has a similar appeal. She pats him on the cheek and asks him to cut up fruit for her. He hesitates only a moment when she hands over a knife handle-first. No, there is no blood on it, and neither is it an angel blade. Just a regular dicing knife one can find in any kitchen. Sam blinks and takes the knife, his hands trembling a bit because of the sheer NORMALCY of wielding it. Just like when he was with Amelia, Sam has to concentrate on preserving the normal aspects of his life at great cost—then, as now, he has absolutely no idea what is going on with Dean, and though he works hard not to let it, the silence is getting to him. 

The rational part of Sam’s brain knows he needs to calm down, that it’s been only a day since he was spirited away; and who knows? Time might work differently in this reality…. But the emotional part of him is screaming WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! NONE OF THIS MAKES ANY SENSE!!! I’M CALLING DEAN—! and the rationality is forced to hold the freak-out in.

This inner mind wrestling match happens a few times in the course of breakfast preparations. Marie doesn’t say anything about it at first, but when Sam drops his cutting board for the third time she covers his hands in hers and thanks him for helping. “I’ve got the rest. You haven’t done anything like this in a while. That’s fine. Just sit down and talk with me.” She leans against the counter and stolidly regards him. “What’s going on, Sam?”

“What’s going—? Nothing’s going on. What’s going on with you?” He tries to distract her, but it doesn’t work.

“I’m making French toast. That’s what’s with me. Now are you going to evade my questions with the speed of your brother, or will you take a leaf out of your own book and talk to me so that I can help you?” Sam leans back in his chair and gives her a pretty good bitch-face. She, however, won’t back down and returns it with one of her own! Such a response throws the younger Winchester brother completely for a loop. Then he starts laughing.

“No one’s—ever—looked BACK at me like that!” He gasps out. She starts to laugh too. “Oh my God.” After Sam at last ceases chuckling, Marie places two pieces of French toast and a fried egg on a plate in front of him. When he gapes at her, she says,

“I had time to cook all of that while you were dropping the cutting board. Now spill your guts, Winchester. What made you do it?” He groans.

“You just don’t give up!! Okay—I’m worried about Dean, if you’ve gotta know. And yes, I do realize it’s only been a day. But even though he barely uses a cell phone, my brother always calls me.” Marie is nodding.

“Like when he apologized for telling you to leave and not come back after you protected Ruby before going after Lilith.” Sam blows air out of his nose and his shoulders settle.

“Yeah, right. You think he would do that? Nah, he never apologized. Called me a ‘bloodsucking freak’ and said he was gonna hunt me down, but that’s about it.” Marie shakes her head with pity. “Why are you looking at me like that?!” Sam demands, now starting to get mad.

“Wait. Wait a minute, you don’t know. Oh oh oh, of course you don’t. Wait just a minute.” She speedwalks back to the bookshelves and opens a DVD case before putting the DVD into the player and turning her television on. She selects something on the main menu and fast-forwards with her remote. “Here it is, from ‘Lucifer Rising’. I always liked how they started with Lazarus and ended with Lucifer. Nice cyclical nature.” Sam stares blankly at her. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, but just—look.”

Sam does and…sees Bobby. And Dean, just like they both looked seven years ago. Incredible. Bobby is now yelling at his brother— “‘Well boo-hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, Princess! Are you under the impression that family’s supposed to make you feel good?! Bake you an apple pie, maybe?? They’re SUPPOSED to make you miserable—that’s why they’re family!’ and Dean replied ‘I told him “you walk out that door, don’t come back” and he walked out anyway! That was his choice!!’” Sam’s eyes fill as Dean turns his face away from their adoptive father who makes one more reply: “‘You sound like a whiny brat. No—you sound like your father. And you’re a better man than your daddy ever was. He was a coward. He’d rather push Sam away instead of reaching out to him. Don’t make the same mistake he did.’” Seeing his brother’s reaction to that comment, and hearing the comment in the first place causes Sam to let out a shaky breath that is almost a sob. He watches in awe as Dean defies the angels at every step—and after Dickariah leaves, growls “‘Ah, screw it.’” before typing Sam’s number into the keypad of his phone. Sam hears his own recorded voice and tenses, waiting for the horrible hated words ‘listen here you blood-sucking freak’ to issue from his big brother’s mouth. But they don’t. What Dean REALLY says is: “‘Hey, it’s me. I’m still pissed, and I owe you a serious beatdown. But—I shouldn’t’ve said what I said. I’m not Dad.’” TV Dean shrugs and shuffles his feet. “‘We’re brothers, y’know? We’re family. And no matter what happens, that doesn’t change.’” His lower lip starts to tremble and his jaw works the way Dean’s always does when he’s trying to keep a handle on his emotions. “‘Sammy, I’m sorry.’” And that’s it. He hung up without any promises to hunt his younger brother down—saying nothing about Sam being a freak.

Sam doesn’t realize he’s crying until Marie stands on tiptoe to wipe tears from his face. “I never knew,” he whimpers brokenly. “I carried that wound—that hate—around for seven years when I was with him and he—he never denied it. Why??” Sam sinks to the floor. “Why would he let me go on thinking that—let me believe something so wrong about my big brother?” He is sobbing openly now, and Marie kneels and wraps her arms around him.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, Sam. I will find out about Dean.”

“How?” Sam sniffs and blinks and rises, putting himself together as he must always do. “He—threw away his cell phone. T-tried to stop me from tracking him down. And then when I did, he laid me out.” She smiles and pats his cheek.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not having you contact DEAN then, am I right?” Instead, she calls Gadreel. It takes a long while for the angel to answer, and when he does, Marie is confused. “Has Castiel gotten in touch with you, Sam?” she calls as she returns to the kitchen. “Because Gadreel thinks they’ll be on the way here soon—he simply thought Castiel would call ahead.” Sam takes his plate to the sink and then freezes, staring at her.

“Isn’t he with them?”

“Who?”

“Gadreel. Isn’t—isn’t he still with Cas and now, I guess, with Dean? Won’t they need his angelic energy to reopen the portal?”

“I’m not sure. An angel OR demon has the power to open it. Maybe they convinced a demon…” Sam is shaking his head.

“The last demon to help us—of her own free will—was known by the name of Meg.” Marie makes a sad sound. “And we both remember what happened to her.”

“I do remember. Poor Meg.” Marie goes over to the sink and begins scrubbing the plates clean. “Do you want any more coffee? Otherwise I’ll dump out the pot.” He shakes his head.

“I’m good. How will we know if—when—they’re coming?” 

Just then a blue-white splintering light appears in the living room. The Raleigh woman gestures and says snarkily,

“We’ll see something like that.” A figure raises itself up off the floor, and Sam is no longer listening to her because

“Dean!!!” He practically flattens his older brother in an enormous hug. Dean staggers back.

“Whoa, hang on, Sammy—I don’t have my balance back yet. I don’t care WHAT Cas says, that teleportation shit is a hell of a lot like flying. Hel-lo, who have we here?” By this last sentence the apartment owner has come over to stare at Dean with her hands on her hips.

“Oh, this is Marie, Dean. She’s been keeping me company here while you single-handedly murdered Metatron. He is dead, right?”

“It’s a pleasure. She’s keeping you company, huh? That’s my boy! You’ve got a nice place here, Marie,” Dean adds, carefully not answering his brother’s question about Metatron. “Wow,” he whistles at the sight of all of Marie’s books. “Sam, you pop the question yet?” Then, seeing her classic rock, “Hold on—I may beat ya to it.”

“Excuse me, boys,” Marie says, forestalling Dean’s flirty grin and Sam’s mounting irritation. “I have a few questions before you leave. One: how CAN you leave if Gadreel isn’t there to lend Castiel an energetic hand? How did you GET here without him? And two: Dean, I think we’d both like to hear exactly how you killed Metatron. Alone.” Dean starts to fidget. “Hurry this up, please. I ain’t got all day.” Her voice takes on a hint of Bobby, which provokes Dean to say,

“Sheesh. She like this the whole time, Sammy? All right all right—” he raises his hands in supplication as Marie looks as if she’s going to start threatening. “—Cas is keeping the energy goin’ on the other side while I operate it in here. And the reason I can do that is because there was a mix-up when I tried to stab Metatron…I missed the sonofabitch and he kind of, uh, …turned me into a demon.”


End file.
